


Northern Games

by Akasha_Dumas



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 03:40:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18932656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akasha_Dumas/pseuds/Akasha_Dumas
Summary: Sansa Stark is now queen of the North. And although there has been peace in the realm since the reign of the new king of the six kingdoms, that doesn't mean the work of the Queen is done.~~~~~The story picks up after the events of 8x06





	1. SANSA

 

          The light from the sun swept across Sansa Stark bedchambers bringing with it a cool breeze with a hint of warmth hidden under it, just like the walls of Winterfell. Sansa awoke with a smile at the sounds of hammers of men at work that echoed from the yard. It was the sounds of Winterfell becoming whole again, as whole as Winterfell could be. The stark siblings now spread across not only the realm but the world. Sansa thought of her younger sister, Arya, sailing across the seas discovering the unknown. Sansa however could not ever dream of leaving home again. A stark must always remain in Winterfell.

          For as much destruction had befallen the realm, it had been quite peaceful since the King of the six kingdoms has reigned. Only months have passed but a certain hope had dared to take over. A raven arrived a week past, from Tyrion. He wrote of the progress in Kings Landing and how the crown looked forward to building a strong relationship with the independent North. _The independent North,_ Sansa thought, _And the Queen of North who rules it._ Her mind could not help but wander to thoughts of the queen who reigned before, to Cersei. She imagined Cersei’s last moments with a bittersweet reverie. For all the chaos and evil that came from her, she was still the one to have gifted her with hard truths that so many in her youth had covered up with flowery words and fables.

          In the Great Hall Lady Stark sat at the head of the great table. She listened to the Northman and women who had sought an audience with her. Supplies of grain, meat and other food stock have been abundant after the battle of Winterfell. But It wasn’t food that was a problem, but the vast nothingness left behind of those who were lost. As Queen of the north it was her duty to keep the peace. On this day she oversaw the transfer of a few business that the people of Wintertown squabbled over. However trivial it might have seemed Sansa couldn’t help but take pride in in the matter. After all ,the north was hers, and she loved the north and the people within it. When the matter was settled Sansa made her way to the Godswood.

          Through all the fire and death, the wierwood tree remained. It’s trunk wide and pale as bone, it’s skeletal branches reaching out over her bleeding bright red leaves.  She could still feel the old Gods here. As beautiful as this garden was, she still retained a little of her mother sentiments. She did not know much about magic and Gods but from what she had seen this place still had a remnant of it. And of what she had seen it is terrifying. _Bran,_ she thought, _what is it that you see and know._

          Behind her, Maester Oliver waited quietly. Oliver had only been a young man when the war of the five kings had started. A winter boy from the north whose family barely had enough to feed their five children. His mom couldn't feed all his siblings including himself. If the father had been there, maybe he would’ve grown and fought for Winterfell, but his father had gone and fought for Rob Instructing him to stay and help his mother. Between the wall and the citadel, Oliver was glad his mother chose the latter.

          “Maester Oliver, what is it you’ve come to say” Sansa continued to gaze at the tree. Her back still to him.

          “Your very perceptive, your grace” Maester Oliver stayed put, letting the Queen have her space. It is known that the Queen of the North seldom likes being hovered over. He learned that the hard way when he first arrived. “In the south they may like to melt over one another in that heat” Lord Royce had said; He remembered the Lord reprimanding him before his journey back to the Vale. “But in the North the cold air builds walls of snow and sleet. Try not to trample over it, you might slip and fall” he had advised the young maester.

          “A raven came today”.

          Sansa whipped around and gave the young Maester her full attention. “From the south or the north?”

          Oliver bowed his head “The north your grace, our scouts have camped near Deepwood Motte.” The Maester watched Lady Stark, her face as sharp as steel, “Lord Glover and his men continue on with Life behind their castle walls, they have scouting troops make rounds every day in shifts.” He handed her the scroll.

          “Can’t imagine he has slept peacefully since he abandoned his oath to the Starks and to the North,” She looked over the message. Lord Glover sends troops morning, noon and night in preparation for the judgment of Winterfell it read. “There are very little people left here, Last Hearth is still abandoned as is Bear island and the Dreadfort” Sansa returned the scroll back to Maester Oliver. “People are tired of War and battle, but he cannot be allowed to go freely.” A puff of smoke billowed through the air as Sansa sighed deeply. A furrow  creased her brow, “Send a scroll to the Karstarks, House Cerwyn and the other Lords and Lady’s.”

          Oliver nodded. “And what would you have me say?”

          The corner of Sansa lips curled into a small smile. “That the Queen of the North request a meeting with the remaining Great Houses of the North. To discuss the future of our independent Kingdom and the traitor within it, Lord Glover.”

~

          Night fell bringing with it the sharp winter air. It reminded Sansa of home, of family, of the cold winter nights huddled around the fire by the foot of her mother while Catelyn had braided her hair. In these very chambers no less. She sauntered over to the window and nudged it open, the chill was welcomed.

          Since the White Walkers came, death trailed behind them. Animals from the surrounding area now gone, along with the lives of the people who were unfortunate enough to get left behind. An eerie silence has echoed from they’re presence through this land. But in the distance Sansa heard something familiar. In the distance Sansa swore she had heard a howl.


	2. JON

          Jon had heard rumors of a great beast that was patrolling on the outskirts of their encampment. Wildling children had strayed too far out and when they came back, they told tales of a great beast on four legs, feasting on a giant bird. He hadn’t taken it too seriously _I guess there will always be threats in the minds of men when dark falls and man wanders into the unknown,_ but Jon rested at the knowledge that the great other had been defeated, the true threat and nothing could compare to that. Whatever beast they spoke of was just the fancies of children.

          It wasn’t till he went out looking for Ghost that he had come across this great beast.

          Jon had went hunting alone, like he liked to do. His only companion was his direwolf.  Ghost happen to be better at taking down game then his bow and arrow had ever been. He had tried to go hunting as little as possible. There wasn’t a lot to hunt since the white walkers had passed through. Animals were now a bit scarce but over the past few months more and more seem to appear. So, Jon had set out in the early morning. The air still sharp with the morning chill.

          During the hunt, Ghost had wandered off as usual. Normally Jon wouldn’t have paid any mind, but he had begun to get suspicious after a day had passed. It didn’t take long to find his companion. Jon always knew where Ghost was even when he didn’t know, but to his surprise he found alongside him a familiar sight. The great best was none other than another direwolf. Its copper fur reminded him of Rob’s hair and it’s amber eyes shone brightly in contrast to Ghost’s red. It was also slightly bigger than Ghost and a female at that.

          At first Jon had stared in wonder. A smile spread across his face. He forgot for a moment that this might mean there where more. Possibly a pack. And a pack of giant Direwolfs might not be so great for the wildlings scattered across the encampment. But with one look at Ghost he knew, in his heart, that they wouldn’t be a threat. It took awhile before he heard the faint squeals of pups. Ghost had come over and led him to a nest of pups tucked under a small alcove. Jon was glad that he was alone as tears filled his eyes.

~

          “Pups? huh” Tormund tore at a chicken leg. Grease trailed through his mangled beard making it slick and shiny. “Should we be concerned?” Jon shook his head. Tormund watched Jon pick at his bread. He knew him long enough to know when he was brooding and when he was planning and thinking. “What’s on your mind?”

          Jon stayed looking down at his bread. Then to the hearth where a great fire danced. “Last time we found direwolf pups, Ned was going to kill them, they had no chance out there in the wild without a mother, but Bran begged and we each were given one.” Jon smiled sadly at the memory.

          Tormund listened to his friend intently. With all seriousness he asked, “Do you want to give me one?”

          Jon laughed. He had been laughing a lot more lately, here beyond the wall. Here he wasn’t a Stark or a Targaryen. Here he was a wildling, he held no lands, belonged to no house.  “Maybe, but I’m pretty sure you would only somehow make the animal wilder” Tormund smiled greatly at that.

          “Then, what’s on your mind?”

          “I am the only one who still has their direwolf. My –“ Jon stopped and thought. “Ned’s children all lost theirs,” Now Jon was brooding. Tormund slapped him on the shoulder, hard enough that Jon had to regain his balance. He shuffled back on to the seat.

          “They are your house sigil, right?” Tormund eyes traveled to the untouched meat on Jon’s plate.  He tried hard not to drool. “You think this means something?” Jon reading his mind handed over his plate. In a matter of seconds, the plate was empty. Bits of food caught in Tormund’s red beard.

          Jon looked out into the distance. His thoughts as far away as his memories. “There was four. Four pups.”

          “Maybe you should make some pups of your own. None of those southern laws can touch your here. You could father a child. Wolf children,” Tormund growled, “Maybe that’s the sign.” The plate dropped from Tormund’s lap to ground with a soft thud. He stood up, looking out through the gathering of wildlings huddled near the fire as they ate until he spotted what he was looking for. Her hair was red enough. Tormund pointed and shouted at her, “You with the red hair. Sort of red hair. What’s you-“ Jon pulled him back down, red with embarrassment. Tormund confused leaned over to him, “What? I thought you liked red heads.”

~

          It wasn’t a goodbye, but he said his farewell to Tormund the next day. Hopped on his horse and set out to Castle Black. He fitted his fur cloak with a hood, he figured he might need it below the Wall. If he could get past through the nights watch without a problem. He also swapped out his wildling furs for his Night Watch black boiled leather. Either way he knew he would stick out but donning the black would at least prove, even for show, that he obeyed his sentence even if it was a lie. He wondered if anyone cared anymore anyway.

          Ghost had to stay behind, he wasn’t leaving for good anyway and he couldn’t bring himself to take the direwolf away from his family. Tormund had been told to let the others know there weren’t any threats of a mystical beast. Somehow Ghost staying behind gave him peace of mind.

          Something wriggled around in his coat. Jon opened it up a little bit. The breast of his coat wrinkled as something moved within it. A few seconds later a small furry head pops out. It’s fur auburn and in just the right light it looked almost red.  _As red as Sansa's hair_ , he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Jon chapters will be posted in unison once a week


	3. SANSA

 

          Sansa wore her embroidered blue dressed lined with wool. She had done the etchings herself when she had found the time, which she had more often than not. The rebuilding of Winterfell was going well, and other then occasional squabbles among the people, there hadn’t been much for Sansa to do. Most days it was approving building plans and stitching with her handmaidens. Not that she wasn’t grateful for the lack of troubles, the North needed a period of healing. Soon though, the great lords and ladies of the North will arrive. She found herself looking forward to it and spritely threw on her white fur cloak; There was a subtle bounce in her step as she went to the master turret in the Rookery.

          Passing through the courtyard she could see the Library Tower fully finished. First priority had been the walls, but Sansa was glad to see the Library Tower completed. All she needed to do now was get more books. She had overheard Jon and Samwell Tarly talking the night before the Great battle. Sam had whispered in the cover of the dark by the kennels. He had brought books from the Citadel with him. A crime which she was sure had been pardoned. She wondered if he had left those books. Her thoughts drifted through what might be in there. It wasn’t till she was in the Maester Turret with Oliver eyes wide, like a nervous pup, did she realize she had daydreamed all the way there.

          “Lord Cley of House Cerwyn will make his way in two fortnights; House Reed of Greywater watch will send his daughter Meera Reed to represent him,” Maester Oliver was now gathering scrolls from atop his desk. “Lady Karstark along with Lord Wymn Manderly, Lord Brandon Talhart and Lady Lyessa Flint of House flint of Widows Watch, all are making way.” Maester Oliver was now handing the scrolls over to Sansa.

          She sifted through them, giving them each a passing glance. “There still so many lands and castles left empty and abandoned.” Sansa walked over to a nearby wooden table and dropped the scrolls in a small pile. Next to the pile a toy figurine of a solider laid on its side. Sansa placed it back upright. “It wasn’t just the white walkers that wiped us out but the wars and battles before it.” She looked sadly down at the children’s toy. Maester Oliver noticed the melancholy in her pensive stare.

          “But now the wars are over and you have brought independence to the north.” Maester Oliver blurted out. He had meant for it to come off comforting, but his nerves got a hold of him and it came out a little too loud, a little too strong. “Your Grace”, he finished, quietly.  Sansa nodded, gracefully making her exit.

~

          “He’s so nervous, It makes me feel like I’m scarier then one of the Others.” Sansa sipped her Dornish wine provided by the new master of whisperers. The muscular older man with an exceptionally well groomed mustache and bronze skin sat across from her in the great hall. The flames blazed brightly in the fireplace near where they sat. “I have no idea why he fears me”

          “Perhaps because you’re the Queen. Any man who knows better knows not to get on the wrong side of someone in that position.” The master of whisper’s responded with his thick accent of someplace beyond the seven kingdoms. 

          “Yes respect, I understand. But the poor boy fears me. I don’t want to inspire fear in those who serve me.” Sansa was beginning to feel the warmth from the wine flow through her. Her lips tasted sweet as she licked them. 

          “Give him time”, the older man advised. “He’s young, he will mature into his role and with that he will no longer fear you. Because it’s not you he fears but his new position. He’s green in the ears. That would make anyone nervous. And when the nerves are rattled fear tends to trickle through and spread to places unwarranted.”

          “Fear can be playful, it can be teasing, it can be foreboding, and it can be frightening” The master of whispers stood up and fetched the flask of wine. He refilled his cup and Sansa’s. He didn’t stop until the deep red wine lined up with the rim. “trust me you’re not that scary. It's just nerves.” Sansa nodded finally loosening up.

          The North had never had a Master of whisperer’s before. Sansa was counseled not to employ one but she learned the importance of having eyes and ears everywhere. She had found the big older man in Wintertown a month after Brans crowning. A tradesman dressed in the most beautiful colors of purples and reds. His carriage was decorated brilliantly with foreign metal and cloths and fruit. The most suspicious thing was he wasn’t selling, he was giving it out for free. When Sansa asked why, he only answered. “There is no price for life, and now is the time of the living”. After that she invited him back to the castle to learn more of this odd man.

          He had given her a case of Dornish wine while promising to get her more at her request. After some talking over the sweet wine, she learned His name was Malek, he was a trader from Essos who’s traveled all over the seven kingdoms and beyond. During the war of five kings he was caught illegally smuggling goods through Lannisport and was sent to the wall. He wasn’t there for long though and had abandoned his watch. From there he made his great escape and stole a boat from white Harbor. Which he used to sail back to Essos. Only returning when he heard the news of two Dragons sighted in the sky over Kings Landing.

         It was an incredible tale, one she didn’t quite believe, but he was a Trader with connections from all over. So, she presented him with the option to serve as her master of whispers, for a certain amount of time at least. A trial period. She was more than surprised when he accepted. In the following weeks he had provided her with news from all over; What’s being imported into Kings Landing, the new prince of Dorne who had an affinity for fortune tellers and of the wildlings that had been led by Jon snow going north of the wall. Small gossip but knowledge in places she wouldn’t have normally had.

          “I do have some news for you, your grace,” Malek had a smirk, the one he always had when giving her news.

          “Just spit it out” Sansa playfully scolded. Malek laughed. She was only half serious.

          “It appears that a man from beyond the wall has arrived at Castle Black wishing to come south.” Malek eyes squinted as he observed Sansa’s reaction from the rim of his cup. A soft silence followed except for the crackling and popping sung by the fire. Malek stretched out his legs bringing his feet closer to the hearth. He wasn’t used to the cold but he always liked new challenges. So far, during his stay here, the hardest challenge wasn't the cold shoulders presented by the suspicious northman, or remembering the halls and corridors and where they lead. It was the weather itself, something beyond his control and so, he was at the mercy to. 

          “Jon” Sansa sighed. She stared into the depths of the fire trying to extinguish any hope. Oh, how she longed to see him. They’re final goodbye had left a certain emptiness inside her. One she would never admit.

          “Honestly don’t think anyone would care if he came back. The northerners love him. It seems only the angry Greyjoy woman would be miffed by it.” Sansa silence spoke volumes to him. Having only met her recently he was still figuring out this redheaded beauty who hid behind a wall of ice. “You miss him.” It wasn’t a question but an observation.

          Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the dangerous familiarity that was growing between her and the new Master of whispers. But she found herself answering honestly. “Yes,” she said.

          “Can I be frank with you?”

          “When have you not been?” Sansa stirred her cup. The wine inside almost toppling over.

          “Only cause you made me promise,” he retorted, flshing his flashiest of smiles when her eyes darted icily at him.

          “What’s the promise of someone who whispers truth’s and threads lies.” Sansa parried back.

           “A powerful one” He sang out while holding out his cup. A truce. She clinked his cup with hers while quietly regretting having attacked him. 

          “There is no need to defend the wall. But all men mustn’t die either. The Night’s Watch could be put to better use. Perhaps soldiers on reserve.” Malek moved his feet away from the hearth. His toes now uncomfortably warm. “The area of the gift is huge, and idle hands… you know where that leads. It would be a shame if restless criminals decided to entertain themselves by sparking a fight with the wildlings all over again.”

          “I agree Lord Malek. But I have more immediate concerns on my mind.” It was true what he said. She hoped the grace period following the end of the war and a new reign would give her enough time before any of that happened. Sansa gulped down her wine relishing in a different warmth then from the flames. ” But it is a priority I will attend to.” She looked over to Malek who had a lazy smile and soft tired eyes that have seen many wonders. An older man with wisdom, and she had learned to listen when wise men talked. “Thank you. Really” She made sure he looked back at her, wanting him to see her honesty as she spoke. “I’m grateful I’ve met you.”

          “As am I, your grace”

~

          As was expected the first to arrive was Lord Cerwyn. Castle Cerwyn was the closest. Followed by Brandon Talhart from Torren Square. Lord Manderly from White harbor arrived a day after. Alys Karstark, Meera Reed and Lady Lyessa from Widow’s Witch all arrived around the same time having traveled roughly the same distance. Sansa had chambers in the Great Keep prepared for the Lords and Ladies of the Noble houses. And she made sure to furnish the guest houses for the escorts that came with them. She was grateful she had employed stable boys’ weeks earlier.

          Winterfell was alive again. She had woken from sleep to the sounds of laughter and conversation in the yard where faithful men whom swore to protect their Lords, gathered and conversed. Some were even helping the builders lay bricks and carry wood. _Soon_ she thought _the echoes of the war will fade and the north will look with hope to the future._ Today she will ensure that.

          The Great table had been moved further back to create room to seat the nobles. Of course, Sansa will sit at the head, but she wanted the nobles to be on her level when they spoke. She may rule the Kingdom of the North, but it wouldn’t be without the help of the people she ruled over. They were all children of the North.

          Wine had been served followed by a small feast. Talk could wait there was no need to rush. When the last dish had been cleared and the glasses replenished with wine did Sansa decide to begin.

          “So Lord Glover.” Lord Manderly huffed. His white beard somehow whiter than before. “A coward, a traitor, an embarrassment of the North.” That initiated nods by his fellow nobleman and women. “I say we go there now, our men have had enough time to rest, it’s time we honor those who’ve died and fought by taking out that filth.” A couple of ‘Aye’ rang through the table.

          A soft voice spoke up, “We’ve had enough fighting and warring and killing”. Meera Reed had grown from the last time Sansa saw her all those years ago. Back when she would make fun of the crogmen. There was a sadness in her eyes, and it looked like when she moved it took great effort. As if she was eternally exhausted. “If he lives, he would have to live with that shame and guilt. I say that in a way is worse than death.” This time ‘Aye’ were directed at Meera. Even Lord Manderly couldn’t argue against her. Sansa sat and observed quietly.

          “I’ve lost my boys and my husband to the ironborn following Rob. They died with honor to house Stark. But I think we all lost enough.” This was Sansa’s first time meeting Lady Flint. The Flints controlled areas throughout the North. Now most abandoned as little by little her family has died before her. She held her head high. With her hair held back in braids Sansa noted how much of a presence she had. And all came from her piercing black eyes. “I don’t think our brother and sisters could endure another fight, right now at least”

          Brandon Talhart looked at each and every one of them as he spoke. “My father. Brother and mother were all flayed by the Bolton’s. We’ve fought for House Stark and now we serve our Queen Sansa Stark. The Queen who fought for us against the Other’s and against the tyranny of the southern crown.” Brandon turned to Sansa. “I will fight if you need me” His small speech was greeted with a roar of cheers and hollers. Sansa sat stoically giving nothing away.

          “I agree, I’ll fight if you demand it of us” Lord Manderly repeated. As did Alys Karstark and the rest of the Nobles seated at the table. “I’m honored that you would ask our counsel for this matter but ultimately it is your decision.”

          “Your precisely right Lord Manderly. But I wanted to hear from the great houses of the North.” Sansa commanded respect from her fellow northmen. And when she spoke they all hinged on her every word. She was ashamed to admit it was still something she was getting used to. “And from here on out I would like to propose the Queens Council made up of all the heads of the Noble houses, to meet ever six full moons.” She let that sit with them for a moment. “Rebuilding the North will take time, and I agree we have lost far too many. But it can only be done through a united front.” Sansa waited. Her heart skipped every time one of them sighed too loud through the silence that followed. She watched as they all exchanged looks with one another.

          Then finally, Karstark spoke. The girl she had once suggested to rid her of her home. “I would be honored to serve as a member of the Queens council.” And like that one by one they all agreed. Sansa cheeks grew warm. She took a sip of wine to stifle the red rushing to her face. But Sansa still had more to say.

          “Well now that that’s settled. I suggest a Tourney. Held here at Winterfell. After all the death and bloodshed, the north has suffered I think people need entertainment, something to lift their spirits. Food and drinks will be provided. And rewards will be grand. It will be what the North needs. The winners will receive the abandoned castles, the chance to create a great house and serve the north. A chance to start anew. The Dreadfort, Bear Island and Last Hearth.” She watched as the eyes of her fellow northmen grew wide. ” The smaller castles in your regions you will get to choose who houses them, they will be your vassals”

          “And Lord Glover?”

          “Lord Glover will be given a chance to enter the Tourney and fight to keep his houses castle and control over Deepwood Motte, the people will be the judge.”

 

          All the heads at the table were cast downward. Deep in thought. Except for Meera who had a smile of relief on her face. Sansa knew at least one of them would agree to this. After some time of pensive grunts and sighs Brandon Talhart came to a conclusion. “Everyone fought in the Battle of Winterfell, not just the soldiers but the smallfolk and the nobles. They have a right to begiven the chance to honor the Queen and serve.”. He shyly looked up to face possibly scrutiny from the proud powerful northmen who sat at the table. “Far too many houses have gone extinct in the past years. Now we can give a chance to everyone to start a new legacy in the north.”

          “Your Grace,” Manderly stood from his chair. The wooden legs scraped against the floor. “That is an amazing idea,” he raised his glass in the air. Soon others were standing, their glasses lifted. Sansa stood and joined them. “To the Tourney of Winterfell” She cheered.

~

          The meeting had gone exceptionally well, Sansa was pleased with herself. Out of the ten noble houses of the north, only five remained. The North was extremely large and scarcely populated. It was important to Sansa that they didn’t allow distance and time to give room for petty feuds that would fuel discontent in the North. The Queens Council was only the beginning.

          The battlements grew loud with shouts near the southern gate. In the distance a small black dot grew large. Soldiers excitedly alerted one another. Roger Mansel, the new captain of the castle guard hurriedly traveled across the stony battlements and down into the muddy courtyard where many boots have trampled the snow away. Sansa was mingling with the stable boy, petting the horses when he finally reached her. “Your Grace, there is a hooded man on horseback looking to enter”. Roger lips were tensely thin as he mustered all his strength to keep his breath even. He didn’t want to appear like a gasping dog in front of his queen.

          The hooded figure came through the gate riding a black mare that looked quite formidable. A warhorse perhaps. The guards stood ready as the man swung one leg over and thrusted himself off his hoarse with ease, his cloak flapping behind him. Strangely he kept one hand about his chest, gripping it.  A guard called to him to remove his hood. Sansa didn’t need to see his face to know who it was. Brown and black wolf fur coated the collar of his cloak, two black leather straps fitted across his chest over the familiar boiled black leather of the Night’s Watch. She held her breath as the face revealed was none other than Jon’s. Even the guards and the surrounding officers and servants stopped what they were doing. For a moment, the earth stood still. All eyes were on Jon as he made his way to Sansa purposefully. Everything about him looked the same, Sansa noted, and yet different. She tried her best to stand still and tall, a queen mustn’t show weakness in front of her people, but she couldn’t stop the tears forming behind her eyes.

          Jon dropped to one knee. “Your grace” his voice was husky and strained from travel. He stood back up his eyes, although tired, had a new lightness to them and it showed as he gazed upon her face. Sansa burst forward and gripped him in a tight hug. She could smell his familiar scent and the comfort of his familiar shoulders as she wrapped her arms around them. She placed her head in the crook of his neck, her cheek brushing up against his scruffy beard, tickling her. There was no need for words just yet. All Sansa could say was “Jon”.

          They stood like that for awhile before Sansa felt something move against her chest. She slid out of the hug, not removing her grip on him entirely. The breast of Jon’s jacket wriggled about. She looked up at him questioningly. He laughed which came out more like a grunt and his jacket and reached inside. Out came a small pup, auburn fur, blue eyes. She didn’t know what to think of it until she looked back up at Jon who had a smile fixed on his face as he watched her. She took a closer look at the pup and realized it wasn’t a dog, but a wolf. Her eyes grew wide with realization. She held the pup in her hands and nuzzled it to her chest close to her heart. She felt as though her heart would burst and she would die here and now.

          “Jon” she repeated.

          “Ghost made himself a little family” Jon replied.

          “Whats –“

          “Her, it’s a her. I hadn’t named her. That ought to be your job.”

          Sansa looked down at the pup who already had taken residence within Sansa’s heart. She thought of her mother’s house words, family, duty, honor. She thought of the snow and of home and of snowflakes brushing her face with soft kisses.

           “Winter Rose” Sansa declared.


	4. JON

“The soldiers talked about you. Whoever remained, unfortunate enough to have had a lion on their armor.” The new Lord commander came from the rubble of Kings Landing. Sent to the wall along with whatever remained of the Lannister army. He scratched the stubble growing on his chin, an ugly shiny red patch wrinkled along his hand and down to his wrist. A gift from the dragon Queen. That’s what Lord Cleryn called her along with the whispers he heard throughout Castle Black since he arrived. Jon was used to receiving dirty looks, ever since he was a boy and his name was snow. But this was a different kind of look. Jon couldn’t quite place it, sometimes it seemed as though they recoiled in fear. Other times it looked as though that fear gave birth to a certain respect, whatever it was, he never wanted to leave castle back as badly as he wanted to now.

          “Queenslayer, that’s what they call you now.” Lord Cleryn said. “Dragonslayer other’s say” Jon winced hearing that one. He never wanted to be known as a slayer. A proud knight, someone who helped the people and bards would sing songs of throughout the realm. But those were childish fancies fit only for a child, and he was no longer one. “I don’t care for either, we were at war, we both had our loyalties, we both had our duties. As far as I’m concerned, whether Queenslayer or Dragonslayer, whether Lannister men or northern soldiers, you fought for us all in the end when you put a sword through the heart of the dragon.” Lord Cleryn wrapped his red raw hand around an untouched mug of ale and slid it forward until it stopped right in front of Jon.

          A splint of wood stuck out from the table. Jon picked and pulled until he was able to peel the splint off. He didn’t feel like talking anymore, in fact he didn’t even feel like going south. He thought about the wildling camp, a full ten day journey back. He thought of Tormund and Ghost with his newborn pups. Jon wanted nothing more than to return to the snowy valley, forgotten to the world, where men and women roamed free. Jon reluctantly lifted the mug and gulped down the dark ale. It was bitter and hard to swallow but Jon chugged until the there was nothing left. He was aware of Lord Cleryn watchful eye. Studying the man who brought down a dynasty.

          Lord Cleryn broke the strained silence. “So, your heading south, what for?”

          The pup had been sleeping peacefully, curled inside the bundle of Jon’s cloak. “I have something I must deliver to Winterfell” Jon said, sharper than he intended.

          “Ahh, going to see the queen of Winterfell, aye”

          Jon would have spat the ale right out if he had been drinking some. Lord Cerwyn noticed the shocked expression plastered on Jon’s face. “Aye, It seems the daughter of Winterfell has grown into a Queen. Rightly so if you ask me.” Cerwyn took the mug from Jon and poured more ale. This time he drank. “Father beheaded, betrothed to Jofferey, then to the limp … well you should know how it goes” Jon knew well enough, Sansa had told him the stories, some were hard to sit through but Jon listened all the same. There was strength in hearing truths and Jon had to be strong for Sansa. He had to be strong for the wildlings, he had to be strong for the North and in the end he’s never felt weaker. Cerwyn rummaged through the draws of his desk. He let out a proud grunt once he found what he was looking for. “I’m not used to sitting behind a desk but the poor soul they banished here thought taking a stroll off the wall was a good idea.” A quill, ink and scroll were placed on top, Cerwyn wrote as he continued talking. “Guess he couldn’t live with the scarring that took over his whole body, looked more monster than man. Me, I am glad I still have my life, for what it’s worth.” Lord Cerwyn rolled up the scroll and tied it with a red string. He placed it off to the side along with the other utensils. Two meaty hands clasped together and landed on the wood with a plop where the ink and quill once were. The lord commander leaned forward, tired but still some spark left in the black of his eyes. “To be straight with you, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

          Jon was let through and told there would be no trouble from the Nights Watch. In Lord Cerwyn eye’s there was no crime in deserting if there as nothing to desert. Night has gathered and left and there was no longer a watch to be had. _The man has cracked_ , Jon thought. _He is like me, saw enough of war and blood and rather cool down in the icy realm of the wall._ But something sat uneasily behind the new Lord Commander’s eyes. Jon pushed that thought back and focused on the great land laid out before him.

          Passing through the Gift was long but moderately easy trek. No enemies or obstacles interrupted his travel. He wore his hood on just in case. It was just him and the pup, they only stopped to set up camp for the nights and fill their stomachs. It was Once he reached Last Hearth did the cold winds begin to prickle him. During that region he would travel even through the night only stopping when he couldn’t keep himself alert enough atop a hoarse. In which case he would only shut his eyes for a couple of hours. Even when his soul left in slumber it wanted to come right back and take him as far away as possible. It was Beric who had told him of the horror that befallen Lord Umber. _Another child I led to their death._ Jon sadly thought. His journey was now tainted with the echoes of death and destruction.

          By the fire on his last night before he reached the gate of Winterfell, with the pup beside him did the dark clouds part slightly. He felt Winterfell’s wall just a touch away. He wondered if it looked the same, the walls had been broken down, towers have fallen fire had its wrath there. Jon could no longer stand the flams burning brightly in front of him. The pleasant warmth from the cold now burned his skin. He kicked dirt unto the fire extinguishing it and slept that night wrapped up in his cloak with the pup nested against his chest.

~

          At daybreak he set off again. The pup had grown slightly, now walking on all fours with confidence. He decided to walk beside the pup for a while, trailing the hoarse behind him. When the puppy tired, he lifted her up and put her back in the safety of his jacket and rode the black mare all the way to Winterfell’s gate, the hood of his cloak draped over his head.

          Faint shouts from Winterfell carried in the wind into Jon’s ears. They spotted him and were alerting others of a stranger’s arrival. _Sansa has improved security._ He was aware that the guards of Winterfell tended to be laxed. The North was vast, and people were scarce, there hadn’t been a need. But things have changed. He noted the reconstruction of the walls and spotted the scaffolds in the distance. _Home,_ Jon thought in spite of himself and his heart swelled. He kicked up his heels and rode a little faster.

          The gates opened and Jon trotted forward. Sansa stood, in her eloquent dress and northern braids, in the courtyard, she must have been there before the news of his arrival was announced by the guards. “Take off your hood” he heard a guard shout at him. With a deep breath he removed his hood and marched forward, dropping to one knee right before the Queen of the North. “Your Grace” He said kneeling before Sansa. Only three times did he ever feel the honor of being in the presence of a ruler. Stannis, Bran and now Sansa, the thought of it took him by surprise. He stood and was grateful Sansa made the first move to embrace. Jon’s arms held tightly around her waist and he lifted her up wanting to feel the weight of her. The pup wriggled in discomfort against both their chest sparking Sansa to break the hug. Her hands stayed gripping his arms and Jon was glad she still held on to him not wanting to lose the warmth of her just yet.

          He saw the confusion in her eyes as they searched his, Jon had momentarily forgotten why he came all the way here. He undid his jacket and presented the pup to her. And he knew the journey was worth it while watching the joy light up Sansa’s face. Somehow Sansa’s radiance had never been brighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might upload more than once a week.


	5. SANSA

               Sansa had a stone mason from White Harbor come and try to salvage the broken crypts down in the icy narrow halls, where the Starks of Winterfell had awakened from their stony grave, and set loose horrors on the innocent. She didn’t know what to make of the crypts anymore. Arya and her little brothers used to play down here but this place had always given her the chills, and since the great battle, Sansa had two guards stand outside the entrance atop the steps. If only just for her peace of mind, but Jon had wanted to pay his respects. _Father used to say Arya was like Lyanna, no wonder Jon and her were always so close,_ Sansa had thought as her torch shone bright in the dark. She could make out the curls of Jon’s black hair, no longer tied back it now bounced loose and free with each descending step. _Stark blood must run strong,_ she thought to herself, her eyes never leaving the back of Jon’s head until the final step. Her hair had been like her mother’s, _maybe it depends on the strength of the woman._

          The stone faces remained largely undamaged. They watched her as she followed Jon. It didn’t seem like they wanted anyone down here, ‘Keep away’ their fierce eyes yelled. It was when she saw the face of her dear mother, carved in stone, did she feel a surge of strength and suddenly the kings of winter no longer had any effect on her.

          Two small orbs of light flashed awake. Sansa had lit a candle for Catelyn and Jon for Lyanna. Sansa bowed her head and said a prayer to the Mother, one of the seven that had been her mother’s Gods. When she was finished she looked over to Jon, his head wasn’t bowed but stared straight ahead trying to imagine the face of his mother from the likeness of her stony statue. _You may have not been able to love him mother, but if you only saw what he has become, what he has done for me, for us all._ She left him there and waited by Ned knowing Jon would soon join her. Moments later she felt his cloak brush up against her, he stood close and lit the candle she held in her hand. Together, with a gloved hand wrapped around hers, they placed the candle in a crook on the shoulder of her father’s statue. His hand felt warmer than the flame she held.

          “He would be so proud to see you now” Jon broke the silence and Sansa was grateful for it. She couldn’t quite read him, part of her was worried seeing the statues would remind him of her betrayal. If he had only known it was for love that she had told Tyrion of Jon’s truth. “He always knew you would be a queen someday.”

          “Not exactly what he had imagined.”

          “No. never is though, is it?” Jon replied. He flashed her one of his smiles that always seemed to come from somewhere deep and tired. He turned and headed back the way they came but Sansa reached out and grabbed his arm twisting him around.  The suddenness of her action surprised them both, but she hid it well. The distance closed between them as Sansa stepped closer.

          “I’m glad your home” She said softly.

          “Not my home any longer.” Jon’s face was light but she could see the tension in his eyes. “I shouldn’t stay here to long. I don’t belong here.” A pain went through Sansa with each word he spoke. Jon broke free from her grip gently and exited the crypts leaving Sansa Stark cold and alone down with her dead ancestors.

~~~

          WintersRose was sleeping peacefully at the foot of her bed. The wolf small body rising and falling with each breath. She had gone to check on the pup before making her way to see to the planning of the tourney. The space next to her direwolf called to her and she thought about laying down next to Wintersrose. The rush of excitement from earlier had been thwarted. The only thing that seemed to be rushing through her mind now were thoughts of Jon. Damn his brooding ways, Sansa cursed. She would travel beyond the Wall if Jon had left without seeing her, a worry that’s been skipping through her mind since earlier. She hadn’t seen him since the crypts.

          With his arrival Sansa felt doubt begin to creep in. It crept in as she made her way through the stony steps of Winterfell. It coursed through her as she sat in her solar, hands fidgeting with whatever they could touch above her desk. It wasn’t till the Master of Whisperers entered did it stall, stopping before it had consumed her thoughts.

          “Are you well, your grace?” Malek had asked already fetching the wine. “Have you eaten? your looking pale.”

          Sansa took the cup and swallowed a hefty amount. “I was expecting Lord Manderley.” She didn’t mean for it to sound as sharp as it came out.

          “Ah yes of course, the business of the Tourney will sure to keep you busy.” Malek helped himself and sat across from Sansa even though she had not permitted it and he had not asked. An earthy sent wafted as he landed in his chair, it was somewhat sweet and tickled Sansa’s nose. It must have been spices that he had carried in his cart, Sansa deduced. She looked over at Malek as he situated himself within his chair, it irked her how comfortable he was getting, yet she couldn’t help but feel the tiniest of charm.

          “That will sure to quench the boredom.” He sighed.

          “Your free to leave Lord Malek.” Sansa wanted nothing more than to be left alone, “Whenever you like.”

          “But who will give you all the splendid news.” Malek threw his hands up in the air excitedly. That drew a smile from Sansa. Malek huffed triumphantly. It was the small things that made the world luscious. The things most just glance over, a ghost to the world around them, walking through and by things without ever really touching them, smelling them. Not him, everyone’s path ended in the same place. He saw people turn time into a currency that was always seeming to run out. Not him though, life was short and days were long and until he was dead, all he had was time.

          “Jon is a handsome man isn’t he.” He teased. Sansa needed him to get to the point. “He’s down there helping the brick layers at the broken tower. Been there all day.” Malek watched the tension Sansa had been holding all day, release just slightly. But her shoulders were still stiff, and her face still so tense he was worried it would harden to stone.

          “Have you talked to him?” Sansa asked.

          And there it was, Malek nodded at the discovery. ” I learned much of Westeros culture through travels. From Hedge knights who escorted me. From inkeeps that fed and boarded me. They all told stories each different from the one before it but there was always something true threaded through each one.” Sansa listened patiently. “From what I’ve learned the North is stubborn and proud. Apparently, it remembers, of what I do not know, but I see now, with hard faces and slouched shoulders the north remembers and carries it upon their shoulders.” Malek reached out with his hand and gently placed it atop Sansa’s. “This may be difficult for you, but even wolves relax.”

          “The north never had a Master of whisperers. I am afraid Jon will not be happy about it.” Sansa subconsciously looked to the window as if he was right outside it. “I worry what he might think of me.”

          “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but your doing what he didn’t want to. Ruling the North, and a damn good job from what I hear.” And he hears everything, Sansa thought, or he is supposed to. The blues of Sansa’s eyes brightened. It was what she needed to hear. _I am the Queen, he will have to respect my decisions as I had once done._

**Author's Note:**

> Sansa and Jon chapters will be posted in unison once a week.


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